


so i'm telling you that you'll be safe with me

by theomegapoint



Series: Kinktober 2018 [20]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Dear Evan Hansen: The Novel - Val Emmich
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Kinktober 2018, Knotting, M/M, Not A Fix-It, as a pairing, gratuitous Spanish, technical spoilers for the novel, which were somewhat unavoidable given that i just tagged two spoiler characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theomegapoint/pseuds/theomegapoint
Summary: “Do you have any other bright ideas for what we could do before my mother gets home? I'm all ears.”“Well, we could always go with your suggestion—if you'd prefer my mouth be used for something other than sassing you, that is.” Moving his hand from Miguel's hip, Connor slips it under Miguel's shirt to rest it on his bare skin. “Whatever it is we do, I think we should probably go to your room.”“Yeah? And what are you going to do to me once we're there?”“Learn the shape of your body with my tongue.” Connor kisses the side of Miguel's neck, directly over his birthmark, and revels in the way it makes him shiver. “Suck you off, but stop just before you come so I can ride you until you knot me. I dunno, the possibilities are endless.”





	so i'm telling you that you'll be safe with me

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to extend a hearty "fuck you" to Pasek and Paul for releasing this novelization, which caused me to change my kinktober plans at the 11th hour because iT'S CANON CONNOR MURPHY HAS A SECRET FUCKING BOYFRIEND NAMED MIGUEL WHAT THE _FUCK_. Anyway, this exists now. That's a thing. I'm sorry. I think it's out of my system now.

“Earth to _mi cielito_.” Miguel waves a hand around. It's so perfectly him that Connor has to smile at him. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“I did.” Connor makes a soft, quiet sound that could almost be a laugh. “But you might want to try it again in English.”

“I _am_ speaking English, you _mamahuevo_.”

Miguel swats at Connor, who actually laughs this time and catches Miguel's hand. He presses a kiss to Miguel's fingertips.

“It's not an insult if it's true, you know.” The corners of Connor's mouth quirk up. “But if it makes you feel better, yours is the only one I want to suck.”

“ _Connor_.” Miguel pulls his hand away, exasperated but fond. There's a hint of the accent he mostly kept out of his words at Hanover, and it's nice to know that Miguel feels comfortable enough to drop the perfect enunciation in front of him. “Focus. I'm asking you a question: do you think the exploitation of omegas in the porn industry is the product of alphas wanting that perfect narrative of alpha and omega, or do you think there's a larger societal issue at hand?”

“I think it's not really our place to decide things for omegas, even hypothetically.” Connor reaches for Miguel, curling his fingers around the back of Miguel's neck and using the position to pull Miguel closer. “Besides, there's better things we could be doing.”

“Oh yeah?” Miguel allows himself to be pulled, shifting so he's basically in Connor's lap. “Tell me, then.”

“I think that instead of philosophizing about something we don't really have a say in,” Connor says, “we could focus on the here and now. We could talk about the rights of same-gender couples, which is a fight we _do_ have a stake in. Or you could kiss me.”

“Mm. You make such good arguments, _mi cielito_.” Miguel kisses the corner of Connor's mouth, only pulling back enough to speak. “Tell me why you didn't join speech and debate with me again?”

“I'm not good at public speaking. Anxiety and all.”

That's not the real answer, of course, but Connor's acutely aware that Miguel doesn't want the real answer. Now isn't the time to bring up that he got himself kicked out of Hanover because he was trying to protect Miguel. They'd argued about that once and then it had been put into the past, where it belonged. What happened couldn't be changed, and it was pointless to pretend otherwise when they could be focusing on whatever was happening between them. Connor's other hand settles on Miguel's hip, steadying him.

“Do you have any other bright ideas for what we could do before my mother gets home? I'm all ears.”

“Well, we could always go with your suggestion—if you'd prefer my mouth be used for something other than sassing you, that is.” Moving his hand from Miguel's hip, Connor slips it under Miguel's shirt to rest it on his bare skin. “Whatever it is we do, I think we should probably go to your room.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to do to me once we're there?”

“Learn the shape of your body with my tongue.” Connor kisses the side of Miguel's neck, directly over his birthmark, and revels in the way it makes him shiver. “Suck you off, but stop just before you come so I can ride you until you knot me. I dunno, the possibilities are endless.”

“Fuck, Connor.” Miguel hands frame Connor's face, crashing their mouths together and kissing him desperately. It's like that for a few moments, frantic and wanting, before Miguel pulls away and Connor tries to catch his breath. “My bedroom. Now.”

Miguel moves off of Connor's lap and catches Connor's hand, leading him through the house and into his bedroom. It's not an unusual sight, because they end up in Miguel's bedroom a lot of the time, but it makes Connor's heart skip a beat every time.

“You gonna make good on your promises?” Miguel lets go of Connor's hand and grins at him. “Gonna use your alpha strength to keep me where you want me?”

“Only if you want me to.” Connor steps closer to Miguel, hands settling on his hips. “Consent is sexy, Miguel.”

“I consent to you roughing me me up.” Miguel hooks a leg behind Connor and pulls their bodies flush. It grinds their cocks together, and Connor shudders. “Come on, alpha. I can take it.”

He's not actually strong enough to lift Miguel without a significant amount of help, but he _is_ strong enough to manhandle Miguel onto the bed, and pin him down. Connor kisses him, licking his way into Miguel's mouth and letting him strain up against him. Miguel's not technically any weaker, even if Connor has size on his side, and Connor is aware that if Miguel wasn't exactly where he wanted to be then he would and could break out of the position that he's being kept in. It's reassuring, in a way.

Letting go of Miguel's hands, Connor tugs his shirt off and tosses it to the side. Kissing down Miguel's body, Connor's hands blindly fumble to undo his jeans. He tugs down as Miguel tugs up on his shirt, momentarily tangling them both up in clothing and making Miguel laugh and Connor struggles to untangle himself from his own damn shirt.

“Here, _mi cielito_ ,” Miguel says, actually tugging Connor's shirt all the way off. “Ta-da, you're free.”

“Fuck you.” There's no real heat behind it, and Miguel laughs again as Connor finishes undressing him. “Just for that, I should ride you and not let you come.”

“Yeah?” Miguel seems like he's going to say something else, but then Connor wraps a hand around him, twisting his hand to make Miguel moan. “Connor, please.”

“Use your words, Miguel.” Connor's hand slows to what has to be a tortuously slow pace. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth.” Miguel bucks up, and Connor stills him with his free hand. “Please, come on.”

Connor grins, shifting around to kiss the tip of Miguel's cock before taking it into his mouth. He's not practiced enough to control his gag reflex and Miguel's a squirmer on the best of days so Connor keeps a firm grip on his hips, holds Miguel in place so he can't buck up. Blowing Miguel is his favorite thing they do, Connor thinks, because there's something so freeing about it—he doesn't have to focus on anything but what he's doing, on Miguel's pleasure, and despite the front he puts on, Connor loves giving to people more than receiving.

“Connor,” Miguel says. It's soft and fond, so full of love that it's almost frightening, and Connor lets his eyes flutter shut so he doesn't feel overwhelmed. “Fuck, you have to stop. You have to stop, I'm gonna pop a fucking knot, _mi cielito_.”

He doesn't want to, but Connor pulls off. Miguel presses a condom into his hand before his fingers reach for Connor's jeans, undoing the button and pushing them down so Connor can kick them off. When he's finally undressed, Connor shifts to kiss Miguel again. He's expecting it when Miguel's fingers first brush over him, but it still makes him shiver before he relaxes into it, lets Miguel finger him until he's loose enough to take Miguel's knot. Lets Miguel line them up and gently lower him onto his cock.

“Fuck me,” Connor says. It's almost a plea, because Miguel is going so, _so_ slowly and he almost wants to cry. “Come _on_.”

“Be patient, _mi cielito_.” Miguel kisses the corner of Connor's mouth. “You need to take it slow.”

“I'm going to die before you knot me.” It's breathless, wanting, and he tries to catch his breath but it's almost impossible when he's so, _so_ full. “Miguel, _please_.”

“ _Patience_. You're gonna fucking regret it later if I go faster.”

Intellectually Connor knows that Miguel's right, but he _wants_ and he's not thinking particularly clearly. He whines, and Miguel kisses him. It's a distraction, but it's an effective one—Connor doesn't notice the space between where he was and when he bottoms out. Instinctively, he tries to move only to be held in place by Miguel, whose hands are firm on Connor's hips.

“ _Miguel_.” It's not quite a word, more of a plea. “Shit, come on.”

“Oh how the turn tables.” Miguel laughs into the curve of Connor's neck, hands still keeping him in place. “Give it a second or you're not going to be able to sit later.”

Connor doesn't say that he'd almost rather that was the case—something more permanent to remind him that what happened in the space of the bubble they'd made was _real_. That it was more than just a memory. That it had real and lasting meaning, outside of the moments they were together. Instead of saying anything he's feeling, Connor wraps his arms around Miguel's neck and touches their foreheads together.

“Fuck me,” he says, crisp and clear. “I can take it.”

The breath Miguel takes next is shaky, but his grip loosens and he grinds into Connor, making his eyes flutter shut. It's overwhelming and perfect in the best ways, and he can't—nothing exists in that moment but the two of them and the points where they're touching. The places where they're doing their best to merge together, to go back to before, when they _were_ one. To go back to before the origin of love.

He sobs when Miguel knots him, body shaking from overexertion and tension, and Miguel presses a kiss to his brow, keeps up an endless stream of nonsense that Connor thinks isn't even in English. The specific words don't matter anyway, and Miguel probably knows that as he pulls Connor close and whispers to him.

“I love you,” he says, and Connor can't bring himself to form the words to say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh. I have a [tumblr](https://theomegapoint.tumblr.com/) now, if you'd like to yell at me about anything I've written this month.


End file.
